


The Atlantis Book of Days

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Crashdown [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from Atlantis and other parties before Crashdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Don't Bring Me Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _Any, Any, polygamous marriage. Lorne and Cadman fill in on Teldy's team and accidentally get married off world._

Major Teldy's expression was thunderous when she emerged from the event horizon into the gate room. Cadman looked amused. Dr. Porter looked confused. Major Lorne, bringing up the rear, looked...ridiculous.  
  
He was wearing a crown of woven flowers and several flower garlands around his neck.  
  
Three flower garlands. Each was garland made of a different type of flower. The same types of flowers each of his predecessors were wearing in their hair.  
  
Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Everything all right, Major Teldy?"  
  
She lifted her chin and managed to look proud and combative despite the myriad bright pink blossoms woven into her hair that made her head resemble a bouquet. "There's a reason Teyla's father never took her to trade with this planet," she said.  
  
"What is that, Major?"  
  
"They're highly patriarchal, ma'am," Dr. Porter piped up. "They don't believe women should be allowed out and about unless escorted by a male relative."  
  
Elizabeth turned to Teyla, who looked equally confused. "Are the flowers you are wearing signs of family relation?" Teyla asked.  
  
Cadman emitted a noise that might have been a snort or a smothered giggle. "You could say that."  
  
Elizabeth took in Lorne's particularly cowed expression – he and Cadman had agreed to tag along for Major Teldy while Lieutenant Vega and Sergeant Mehra were home on Earth for much-deserved leave. "What does that mean?"  
  
"It means I tried to tell them I was their brother," Major Lorne said, "but Dr. Porter is very...scrupulous in her honesty, and the locals wouldn't proceed further till all of the women were appropriately installed in a home or –"  
  
"Married, I'm guessing," Elizabeth said.  
  
Teldy's expression darkened. "That's correct, ma'am."  
  
Rodney stared. "All of them?"  
  
"That's right," Cadman said.  
  
Rodney huffed. "This never happens to _me_ when I go off-planet. Bet it happens to Sheppard next."  
  
Teldy cast Lorne a look. "This is all your fault."  
  
"My fault?" he protested. "I told you to tell them I was your brother."  
  
"We try to be honest with the locals wherever possible," Porter recited dutifully. Elizabeth said it often.  
  
Lorne gestured to his veritable florist shop of accessories. "Like this sham of a marriage is honest?"  
  
"You said SG teams end up married to each other in various ways all the time," Cadman pointed out.  
  
"I didn't say I _enjoyed_ it," Lorne shot back.  
  
"Ladies, gentlemen," Elizabeth cut in. "How about you...freshen up and meet me in the conference room for a debrief."  
  
"Actually," Porter said, "we're supposed to wear these flowers for two full days, as a sign of our wedded bliss."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Like the yokels are going to know."  
  
Teldy pressed her lips into a thin line. "Actually, they expect us to dial back out to them at the end of the two days and return the flowers for preservation in their hall of records."  
  
Elizabeth sighed. "Okay. So they're keeping a record of this marriage for their purposes. What are we supposed to do?"  
  
"We better start keeping a marriage book," Lorne said.  
  
Teyla blinked. "What's that?"  
  
"We had one at the SGC. Recorded all marriages that occurred off-planet." Lorne ducked his head, looking like he wished the floor would open and swallow him. "Name of the planet, names of the spouses, description of the ceremony, and a picture of the happy couple or group or whatever. Some planets were very pleased with their matchmaking and liked to have updates about how happy spouses are doing, so...every few months we stage photo shoots and update the book for future diplomatic missions."  
  
Elizabeth stared at him. Teldy glared at him. Cadman looked seconds away from bursting into laughter. Porter looked fascinated.  
  
"Honestly," Lorne said, "we're lucky we made it in the Pegasus Galaxy this long without any accidental weddings."  
  
Elizabeth wanted to laugh at his very forlorn expression, but she couldn't. She was a professional, and she was sure laughing would send Teldy over the edge and possibly lead to Lorne's death. She reached out, clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Chuck, summon a social scientist. We need to get started on this marriage book immediately. Well done, team." She spun on her heel and hurried to her office. She shut the door and sank down in her chair and laughed until she cried.


	2. For The Very First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _Any, any M/M (not incest), Like a virgin, touched for the 31st time_. John and Rodney's first time. John wants to make sure it's what Rodney wants.

They tumbled into John's quarters, limbs tangling as they tried to remove each other's uniforms. The way Rodney was trying to suck all the air out of John's lungs by kissing him was making things difficult, but John was a pilot. He was coordinated. He could multi-task.  
  
They landed on the bed ungracefully, John on top, and Rodney fumbled at his pants, and John had to pause. They'd gone from screaming at each other over a game of prime/not prime to kissing to undressing in his room. On his bed.  
  
They had to slow down. "Wait," John said. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure," Rodney said. "What does it look like?" To emphasize his point, he shrugged off his jacket and started tugging off his shirt.  
  
"I just - we're moving awfully fast."  
  
Rodney narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you a virgin?"  
  
"Yes, Rodney, after years of marriage, like a virgin, touched for the thirty-first time," John said. He sat back, chest heaving.  
  
"I mean with a man, what with your military's oppressive policies."  
  
"Well, no," John said, because he'd gone to college at Stanford.  
  
"I said I'm sure. Clearly you're sure." Rodney slid a hand into John's pants and stroked, and John's breath hitched.  
  
"I just wanted to be completely sure -"  
  
Rodney stroked again, and fireworks went off behind John's eyes. "Completely sure. Now take your clothes off."  
  
"Yes, sir," John joked, and Rodney rolled his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, I don't actually have a military fetish, despite all evidence to the contrary." He tugged John down for a kiss, and that was the end of all coherent conversation.  
  
The next day, when Rodney went to visit John in the military command office, John and Lorne were both doing paperwork. Madonna's "Like a Virgin" was playing on the little iPod radio Lorne had set up. John was flushed very pink, and Lorne looked a little too smug to be completely innocent.  
  
That bastard really did know everything that happened on Atlantis.


	3. Hug Your Cat Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _Any, Any, Hug your cat day._ John helps Rodney celebrate this unusual holiday on Atlantis.

"What is this?" John picked up a photo of Rodney hugging his cat. "Where are your pictures of Jeannie and Madison? Or the rest of your family?"  
  
Rodney plucked the photo out of his hands. "It commemorates Hug Your Cat Day." He hoped he wasn't blushing, but judging by John's smirk, he was failing. "I never really had cause to celebrate Valentine's Day or anything, all right?"  
  
John's smirk faded. "Right. Well - we need to change that."  
  
"It's not Valentine's Day," Rodney said.  
  
"I know." John tapped his radio. "Major Lorne?"  
  
Rodney blinked. Lorne was an efficient XO, but he couldn't magically make it Valentine's Day. Even some things were beyond his power.  
  
John said, "Get me some cat ears and a selfie stick. I know Dr. Kusanagi mocked one up." He paused, nodded, "Excellent."  
  
"What was a that about?" Rodney demanded.  
  
John leaned in and grinned, purred, and Rodney's heart skipped a beat. "It's Hug Your Cat Day."


	4. Just Our Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _Stargate Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay, "How long can you tread water?"_ Rodney and John, caught in a flash flood.

Rodney demanded, "How long can you tread water?"  
  
"I'm in the Air Force, not the Navy," John said. "They don't make us tread water. We only have to do it for thirty-eight minutes, right? They'll send a jumper and it'll be fine."  
  
"I can only tread water for fifteen minutes," Rodney said.  
  
"How do you know?" John braced himself for some horrifying story about how he was bullied in school and thrown into a pool and not allowed out till he almost drowned.  
  
"They made us tread water for a long time for the life-saving section of our swimming course in PE," Rodney said. His teeth were starting to chatter.  
  
John blinked at him. "You had a life-saving section in your swimming course in PE?" He thought back to his high school days. Had they even gone swimming for PE?  
  
"I've said it many times before, the American education system is deplorable and the Canadian system is obviously superior, which is, in some small measure, the reason I am the genius I am today. My intellect would have withered and died in an American school, but in Canada I flourished."  
  
"Hey now," John protested, "I went to a perfectly nice private school. We swam in PE. We just didn't learn any life-saving techniques. Although learning to be a bodyguard would have been a great way to score chicks in high school, now that I think about it."  
  
Rodney cast him a dark look.  
  
"I didn't say I wanted to score chicks now," John said quickly.  
  
Rodney grumbled. "The last time we ended up with a water-logged Stargate, I nearly lost my mind and was reduced to a second childhood. Lorne better get here fast."  
  
"That wasn't because of the water," John pointed out.  
  
"The freezing cold water certainly didn't help!"  
  
"It did help me realize you loved me."  
  
Rodney narrowed his eyes. "You said you'd told me every embarrassing thing I'd done."  
  
"You came to me one night," John said. "I thought you'd fallen asleep, so I went back to my quarters for some shut-eye, but I guess you woke up, and you panicked when you were alone, and the person you came for...was me."  
  
Rodney narrowed his eyes at him. "And?"  
  
"And we shared a couple of beers and talked."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And what?"  
  
"And was there any...hanky-panky?"  
  
John affected the most insulted look he could manage given that his entire face had gone numb. "No! As you pointed out, you had descended into a second childhood. I wasn't going to take advantage."  
  
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Kirk."  
  
But Rodney had cuddled up next to John after the alcohol loosened his limbs, and right before he'd fallen asleep, he'd whispered, "Love you." And John, well, he might have pressed a kiss to the corner of Rodney's mouth, because he kinda loved Rodney too.  
  
Rodney paddled closer. "I know that look on your face. Are you lying to me?"  
  
"No! Can we argue about this later? We can't do this for thirty-eight minutes. No one can." John's limbs were going numb. Were they still even moving?  
  
"Ronon probably could." Rodney's lips were turning blue.  
  
"Okay, almost no one can."  
  
"Teyla could." Rodney was still warm enough to be irritating.  
  
John squinted off into the distance. "Is that a rock in the distance? Let's swim to it and sit on it and wait for Lorne to come in the jumper, okay?"  
  
"That better be a rock and not a whale."  
  
"This was a flash flood. There are no whales."  
  
"You're not a scientist. How can you be sure?"  
  
"Swimming to the rock now, Rodney."  
  
"Okay, fine. But if the words 'race you' come out of your mouth, you're not getting any for a week."  
  
John began dog-paddling in the direction of what he'd seen. Contrary to popular opinion, he did listen in briefings, and the reason this planet had been interesting was for its architectural features, including a conveniently flat-topped tower-like structure that the scientists hoped was full of Ancient anti-wraith technology. If they could reach it, they could sit on top.  
  
"Let's not talk about getting any till we're warm and dry, okay?" John said.  
  
"Fine," Rodney said. "Do you think Ronon and Teyla are all right?"  
  
"Before my radio died, Teyla assured me that they'd found a cave in high grounds in those mountains we were looking at and they were going to wait out the storm."  
  
"Just our luck that we got swept away."  
  
"Yeah," John said softly. "Just our luck. Now c'mon. We're almost there."


	5. More Than Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _author's choice, any, snark is more than flirting -- it's foreplay_. Evan Lorne, XO and Saint, on a city exploration with a bickering Sheppard and McKay.

Evan Lorne knew that everyone thought John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were the heroes of the Atlantis Expedition: Sheppard protected McKay's brilliance and buffered his temper; McKay's genius pushed Sheppard's antics into the level of heroics. Truth was, Evan was the one who managed both of them. He took care of the pesky admin duties that rightfully belonged to the military commander of Atlantis but Sheppard didn't have time for or didn't like. (In Sheppard's defense, he was always up to date on essential issues, like requisitions and discipline.) Evan also took care of a good chunk of the science department despite that being wildly outside of his purview or even his expertise, except Evan was an expert at people. He'd had to be one, growing up on a hippie artist's commune as the only boy interested in being a soldier and flying airplanes. So he soothed the scientists' egos when McKay flew off the handle at them and green-lit their illicit side-projects that allowed them to safely and productively blow off steam (the engineers' alcohol still, the botanists' not-really-weed, the anthropologists' frighteningly intricate game of D&D involving pretty much all of the key personnel in Atlantis as NPCs).

Being stuck on a city exploration mission with both Sheppard and McKay at what-the-hell-o'clock on the morning of what should have been his day off because one of the marines who McKay had screamed at last week was conveniently suffering from a cold was, Evan thought, going above and beyond the call of duty.

Listening to Sheppard and McKay bicker incessantly and not murdering either of them was, Evan thought, the act of a saint.

"If your IQ were bigger than the height of your hair, you would understand–"

"I understand just fine," Sheppard snapped, "but if you would use your eyes instead of your abnormally-sized brain, you would notice that this hallway isn't as big as the map says it should be." He jabbed at the datapad McKay was carrying.

McKay actually turned up his nose. "It's well-established fact that the Ancients were the Gate Builders, not the Map Makers, and also terrible at useful signage. The inaccuracy of the map does not make up for your own lack of–"

Sheppard crowded closer to him, tangled his hand's with McKay's for control of the datapad. "Rodney, look. Out that window, that corridor matches the dimensions on the map. Out the opposite window, that corridor matches the dimensions on the map. What are the odds, then, that this corridor, where we are looking for something special, does not match the dimensions on the map?"

McKay tried to wrestle the datapad away from Sheppard so he could clutch it against his chest like an outraged Victorian maiden. "You were almost in MENSA. You calculate the odds."

Sheppard threw his hands up in exasperation and nearly hit Evan in the face. Evan dodged neatly.

"I'm saying that when dimensions on a map don't reflect reality, it means that there's probably something hidden behind the wall where the extra space should be. Like, say, the super secret special medical lab we're looking for."

"As if the Ancients would make the hiding place so obvious," McKay snapped. "They're not as stupid as you are."

Sheppard attempted to wrestle the datapad away from McKay again. "This map isn't the kind the Ancients would have used day-to-day to get around the city. It was their city. They didn't need a map. This is the kind of thing city engineers would have used. This hiding place wouldn't have been obvious to anyone who walked here day after day. Atlantis isn't precisely symmetrical, so uneven corridor length was no big deal."

"Not to idiots like you, maybe."

"Apparently it's too subtle for geniuses like you."

Enough was enough. Evan cleared his throat. "With all due respect, sir, Dr. McKay, stop pulling each other's pigtails and make a decision. Either get a room, or try to open the door to the super secret medical lab."

He was surprised as all hell when an unholy gleeful expression crossed McKay's face and McKay grabbed Sheppard by his tac vest, and hauled him into the nearest transporter. Evan was going to assume Sheppard's muffled "oomph!" was surprise and not the sound of him being thoroughly kissed.


	6. The Algebra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _SGA, Rodney McKay, The algebra has a devil for a sidekick eeeeeeeeee...._
> 
> A city-wide dispute over song lyrics. Right after Atlantis has landed.

"Brought you some food." Sheppard levered a plate onto the work bench in the only clear space Rodney had left. "Zelenka said you hadn't eaten in a while."  
  
Sheppard was being diplomatic. He probably meant Zelenka had stormed past him cursing in Czech and when asked what the matter was, had thrown his hands up and shouted "Rodney!" before storming off again.  
  
"Thanks." Rodney reached for the sandwich and took a bite. After five years, he'd stopped checking the food Sheppard brought him for any hint of citrus.  
  
"What's got you so bent out of shape?"  
  
"Just taking a stab at that math I was working on while I was on my way to Ascension." Rodney rubbed at his temples. He'd had a headache plaguing him all afternoon. It was admittedly receding now that he was eating food.  
  
"How's it going?"  
  
"You passed the test for MENSA, right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Rodney turned the laptop toward Sheppard so he could see the screen. "Does any of it make sense to you?"  
  
"If it makes no sense to you, why would it make sense to me?"  
  
Rodney sighed and pulled the laptop back to himself. "Right. It's like the song. The algebra has a devil for a sidekick. Know any exorcists?"  
  
"No, but Major Lorne might." Then Sheppard frowned. "What song? I don't know any songs that reference algebra, let alone algebra in conjunction with the devil. Is it a Rush song?"  
  
"Not everyone who's Canadian adores Rush," Rodney snapped. "And it's, you know, I can't remember the name of the band." But he began to hum.  
  
Sheppard burst out laughing. "Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen? The line is 'Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me'."  
  
"No it's not," Rodney said.  
  
"Oh yeah? Bet you a month's pay it is."  
  
"Do you make more than Daniel Jackson?"  
  
Sheppard arched an eyebrow at him but tapped on his radio. "Banks, patch me through to, oh, any self-respecting marine."  
  
That was how, ten minutes later. Woolsey walked into the lab and found half a dozen marines, Sheppard, Rodney, a good chunk of the English-speaking science staff, and Major Lorne on the phone with his sister asking her to look through the liner notes of his Best of Queen CD. The marines kept singing, trying variations of the disputed line out on each other (even though some of the younger marines had fired up their smartphones and the song had been listened to already).  
  
"What is going on here?" Woolsey demanded. "The IOA is on the way and my city's discipline is in shambles!"  
  
Rodney snatched a marine's smart phone and thrust it at Woolsey, pressed play on the song. "You used to be a lawyer. We need you to arbitrate a dispute."


	7. Your Daddy Taught You Better Than That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: _Stargate SG-1, Cameron Mitchell, "Your lies are haunting me'_. Wendy Mitchell knows her son is lying to her about his new post.

"It's still haunting me," Wendy said. She cast a sidelong glance at her son, who was sitting beside her on the porch swing and knitting away like he hadn't a care in the world.

"What is, Mama?" He glanced up from his work briefly.

"That lie you just told your father."

Cam's hands paused, and he sat up straighter, turned to her. "I'm not lying, Mama. They're really promoting me ahead of the zone –"

"I believe that. You almost died. No one will tell us what for, but it was obviously a big deal." Wendy had been a military daughter, wife, and mother, or some combination of the three, all her life. She understood the importance of the secrecy her men and women were held to. Loose lips sink ships.

"And because of what I did, they're giving me any post I want, and the post I want doesn't involve flying. I promise." He looked so sincere. It was those blue eyes he'd inherited from his father. His father, who'd given both legs for his country.

"I'm not sure I can believe that," Wendy said quietly, because something wasn't ringing right. She knew her boy too well. He would never sit back and let others take the fight, not if he could go out there with them. He'd fought long and hard, over a year, to be able to get back on his feet. He was a Mitchell, and he'd never take the easy way out.

"No flying. I swear."

Can Mitchell didn't swear lightly, but she knew he still wasn't telling her the whole truth. Even if there would be no flying, there would be danger.

"Tell me about this posting again?"

"Deep space telemetry," Cam said, without missing a beat. Too rehearsed, boy. Your daddy taught you better than that.

"In Colorado Springs."

"NORAD?"

"Yeah," Cam said. "Remember Sam Carter? From the Academy?"

Samantha Carter. Beautiful. Blonde. Brilliant. A couple of years ahead of Cam at the Academy, but that he'd bothered to write home about her at all meant she was something.

"She's posted there. She's a physicist, you know. On top of being an officer."

The admiration in Cam's voice was clear, but Wendy wasn't sure it was romantic. She hoped it was. So she smiled knowingly and patted his hand and said, "All right, Cam. I see what you're getting at."

He smiled at her, relieved, and Wendy still had the sense that there was much more to that story, but after Cam shipped out, Wendy made sure to ask him about Sam as often as possible, just to hear him blush on the other end of the line.

And then he stopped blushing on the other end of the line, but talked about Sam more, like they were friends, and Wendy couldn't figure it out, so she suggested Cam bring Sam home for Thanksgiving, only Cam come home earlier for his high school reunion, and he brought a British woman named Vala with him, and Wendy resigned herself to being polite and never knowing what was going on with her son.

And then an alien city landed in San Francisco Bay.


	8. Soft Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate: Atlantis, Laura Cadman, Tap dancing bomb technician."

Explosives were technically a science - chemistry, to be exact, with a dash of physics thrown in for good measure (and math, lots of math). But Laura, she had it down to an art. Because she was an artist at heart. A dancer. She’d watched Shirley Temple tap-dance her way across a screen and thought, _I want to do that_. (And then she’d watched Uncle Hank do building demolition and thought, _I want to do that too_.)  
  
Wiring a detonator in the field took an Abe Kabibble if she wasn’t under fire, a Bombershay if she was. Laying out C4 was a series of breaks - single buck, toe tap buck, doubles and triples if she was blowing something big.  
  
Most of the others had learned to handle explosives in breaths. Count your breaths. Keep your hands steady, your mind steady.  
  
But Laura needed rhythm.  
  
So when Coughlin smiled wrong at the Chieftain’s daughter and Lorne failed to do enough fast-talking to get Coughlin out of the Pegasus equivalent of a shotgun wedding, Laura soft-shoed her way through a series of carefully-timed distraction explosions - and a one, and a two, and a three, and a four - and then the team assembled back at the gate. She dialed Atlantis - a soft shuffle - and the wormhole established. As the rest of the marines and Lorne stepped through the gate, Laura took her bows, and followed.


	9. Keep an Open Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, clone!Jack +/ Any, He's tired of being patient."

J was lying through his teeth when he told the Old Guy he wanted to try to embrace high school. He hadn't embraced it the first time around for a reason: he was a soldier at heart, and there was a war he was supposed to be fighting, and hanging around high school wasn't going to help him do it, especially not a second time.

So he smiled, and he went to school, and he kept his head down, and he waited. Patiently. Until the world stopped noticing him. Till the black sedan with the government plates stopped hanging around the school and the apartment the Air Force had rented for him. Till the teachers stopped thinking of him as the new kid and stopped paying attention to him altogether. (That was a careful balancing act, following the rules but not being eager, doing good enough but not so good they noticed he knew things he shouldn't, studying the nuances of pop culture for the new generation and knowing enough to fit in but not speaking up enough to be considered chatty, but not too quiet to be considered a loner or suspicious.)

It took months, agonizing months, till JJ was sure he was just another face in the crowd. 

And then he was done being patient, because the time for waiting was over, and the time for action had arrived. JJ packed a week's worth of clothes, his gun and his knife, the only picture of Charlie he'd managed to salvage from the Old Guy's house, and hit the road.

He headed out to the road and stuck out his thumb and waited. Anywhere was better than here. He needed a place to hole up where he could train, study, and be ready to be activated again when he turned eighteen.

Cars and trucks roared past, and with each one, JJ's heart sank a little more. He was ready to sling up his bag and start hiking when a car pulled over. Sleek, black, Impala, late sixties model. Driver and passenger were both male, Caucasian, twenties.

The driver rolled down his window.

  
"Hey kid, where you headed?"

"Anywhere but here."

The passenger leaned across the front seat and peered at him. "Are you a runaway?"

"Emancipated," JJ said. "I have a court order if you want to see."

"Nah," the driver said, but the passenger swatted him on the arm and said, "Dude, harboring a runaway is a crime."

JJ fished the order out of his jacket and handed it over. The driver passed it to the passenger, who scanned it with an air of competence. He was legally minded. Interesting.

"Jonathan Joseph McNeill?"

JJ nodded.

The passenger folded up the court order and handed it back. "Okay. Hop on in. We're headed to Wisconsin."

"Thanks." JJ climbed into the back seat. "Wisconsin sounds like good times. I grew up in Minnesota."

"You got family back there?" The driver guided the car back onto the highway.

"Not anymore."

"I'm Dean, by the way. This is my brother, Sam."

"Nice to meet you," JJ said.

They seemed like nice enough kids. Dean had awful taste in music and worst taste in food, but food was food. JJ paid his share for food and gas, and they didn't care when he huddled in the back seat and read, and they didn't ask him a lot of questions.

Except for one: "Hey kid, do you believe in ghosts?"

JJ said, "I try to keep an open mind. Why?"


End file.
